Silence
by Zeragii
Summary: A silence either so deep, or so complete, that no one would even consider breaking it...


**Hi there, I'm Zeragii**

 **I do not own any of the characters from Hogan's Heroes. I do not write for profit, only for my own enjoyment and (hopefully) the enjoyment of others.**

* * *

Silence.

It can be calming; a blanket of peace and tranquility that fills one's ears just as wholly as it fills one's heart. There is a reflective silence; the kind one needs in which to think and ponder; to reflect on the happenings of both the past, and the future. And there is a silence of relief, when one can heave a sigh without worry, or fear; knowing that the worst is over. But there is also, yet another kind of silence. A pained silence, that settles in the air, mixed with helplessness and terror. A silence either so deep, or so complete, that no one would even consider breaking it...

The men of barracks two were motionless. No one fidgeted, or shuffled their feet. Even their eyes were unmoving; fixed in whatever place felt the least uncomfortable. Some had settled their gaze on the worn floorboards of the barracks. Others chose to study the wooden beams of the rafters above them. There was even a few men who had closed their eyes altogether, figuring it was best not to look anywhere at all. But four sets of eyes were different. Four sets were fixed, front and center. Focused on one man, sitting alone at the barracks table.

Corporal Peter Newkirk sat stiff and erect. His wrists rested on the tabletop, twisting the blue material of his RAF uniform cap tightly in his hands; first knotting it one way, and then releasing it and knotting it the opposite way. The motion was a continual pattern. Silent, but full of anxiety. Newkirk himself was staring into space, almost completely unaware of anyone else's presence. His gaze held a pained, faraway look; like a man half haunted by the past, and half terrified of the future.

His closest friends, the team of saboteurs based in, of all places, a prisoner of war camp, watched him warily. They were unsure of what he might do. Unsure of what he might say, once it was all over. An invisible wall felt like it had built itself between them; making it impossible to communicate with Newkirk. They couldn't distract him from the words streaming out of the small radio set, settled at the Englishman's elbow. And so they waited in silence; pained silence. With only the radio providing its static-filled tone.

 _"...Results of the bombings are being calculated..."_

The silence was deafening. Almost as deafening as the blasts of bombshells that any one of them could easily imagine, bombarding England earlier that night. Each man held his breath; but no one more so than Peter Newkirk himself.

 _"...Casualty number in...178 people dead..."_

"Oh, blimey..." Newkirk's whispered words were punctuated by the wringing of his cap. He closed his eyes, taking a few breaths to try and gain control over his pounding heart.

Hogan, Carter, Lebeau, and Kinch all took a slow deliberate step toward their friend; sensing that the invisible wall between them was crumbling. Newkirk needed their support; badly. But the Englishman would never want to admit that. His pride kept him from voicing the comfort he so desperately needed. But his friends didn't need him to voice it. They knew. However, it was more complicated than just knowing. If they weren't careful, Newkirk would push them away, and they did't want that. So slowly, very slowly, they would move forward.

 _"...Area of destruction...seems to be located...Bethnal Gre-..."_

Newkirk gave the radio a frustrated slap, even though he knew it wouldn't help the irritating buzz of static that was interfering with the announcer's words. "Ruddy thing," was all he muttered, but then froze as the next name hit him hard.

 _"...near Stepney...investigations underway...reports o-"_ Click. The radio's voice was silenced with the flick of a switch. A turn of a dial. A slip of a finger.

Newkirk's finger.

Quiet reigned within the confines of barracks two. Hogan and his men were now directly behind their troubled friend; the commanding officer even having managed to place a comforting hand on Newkirk's shoulder. Silence; pained silence, continued.

Newkirk didn't even notice. His mind was a dizzying wash of emotions; all banging about within him. He wanted to scream, or cry, or laugh bitterly; maybe all at once. But all that came out was a shuddering sigh. Then more silence. But Newkirk was suddenly very grateful for that silence. The quiet, comforting presence of his friends all around him. It muffled the fear, and pain of the possible horror that plagued him. It gave him a lifeline to hold fast to; gave him something to grip, in case every other thing that mattered to him all at once slipped away.

"Newkirk." The silence was broken at last; almost as it was beginning to feel comforting. Like all his senses had shut down. "Newkirk, come with us."

Newkirk obeyed Hogan's command, through habit rather than anything else. He rose from the table, walking mindlessly after his senior officer as Hogan led him over to the hidden ladder beneath the bunk to his left. They descended; Carter, Kinch, and Lebeau following behind. The darkness within the tunnels matched the Englishman's mood; reflecting the pure feelings of hopelessness and despair he was feeling.

 _She couldn't have survived._

Those words broke the stunned silence in his own mind, making him numb all over. Of course she couldn't have. The Germans had attacked; who knows how bad the damage had been. Bombs going off; dropping from the sky like bloom'n snowflakes. Of course she couldn't have survived. She was dead. She had to be. And yet...And yet Newkirk couldn't bring himself to accept that. He couldn't let the darkness claim his mind just yet.

Not until he was sure.

The heroes made their way to the radio room in silence. Once they reached the hum of the communications board, Hogan nodded to Kinch, and the man silently took his seat at the desk. He didn't need to be told what to do; he already knew. "Goldilocks to Mama Bear, come in, Mama Bear.*"

Silence. Pained silence.

Kinch repeated. "Goldilocks to Mama Bear, come in, Mama Bear."

 _"Mama Bear to Goldilocks, we're read'n you ol' chap."_

Hogan took over the microphone. "Mama Bear, we need information."

 _"We'll do what we can, Goldilocks."_

Hogan was talking, but Newkirk wasn't listening. In his mind's eye he was reviewing a lifetime of memories. Some sad, some happy. Mostly happy. Memories of her; of her smile, her laugh, and her face. The way her voice carried; her encouragement. The way she had always stood by him, in the best of times as well as the worst. And now, there was a possibility that she was gone. A very _large_ possibility. Newkirk wasn't even registering what the others were doing; that they were searching for the answer to his unspoken question. An answer to his silence.

Time passed. Morning was approaching, and still the heroes waited without a word. Hogan had delivered his request long before, but still sat by the radio; his eyes never once leaving the slumped figure of one of his best men. The air raid on his home had shaken Newkirk to the core. His fears, which the Englishman refused to voice, were clear nonetheless. But all they could do was wait. Wait and-

 _"Goldilocks, this is Mama Bear. Come in, Goldilocks."_

Hogan jumped on the microphone immediately. "Goldilocks. We're reading you. Go ahead, Mama Bear."

 _"We found 'er, Sir."_

Newkirk's eyes snapped up, meeting sharply with Hogan's own; a flash of hope shining within them. Hogan pressed the button to respond. "Can you give her a message from us?"

 _"You can do it yourselves, ol' chap. She's right 'ere."_ There was the sound of the microphone fumbling into the hands of another, before a new voice rang out.

 _"Peter?!"_

The silence was shattered.

"Mavis!" Newkirk snatched the microphone away from Hogan almost faster than the American could give it. Hogan quickly shifted out of the seat, making way for the Englishman. "Mavis, ol' girl; is that you!" All the emotions he had been keeping in check were released in those few sentences. He felt relief wash over him like a tidal wave, and he collapsed rather than sat in the chair by the communications board.

 _"Yes, Peter; I'm alright. Just a little shaken. But I'm alright."_

"You don't know how 'appy I am ta 'ear that," Newkirk choked out, barely containing himself. "I thought that..." He swallowed. "...I thought I lost you, Mavis...When they mentioned Stepney, I just 'bout went an' died."

 _"Oh, Peter..."_

As the intimate conversation continued, Hogan and the rest of his men carefully tiptoed from the radio room. They owed Newkirk that much. They couldn't imagine what that long night must have been like for him. No, that wasn't true. They could imagine it. They could easily imagine the Germans flying into their own countries, letting loose bombardments of ammo on defenseless civilians. They had even done it to the Germans themselves, to be fair; but that was war. War meant death, and the fear of death. And no one liked it. No one but the insane and the inhuman. Sometimes it felt like the war would never end. One never knew what might happen. No one knew whether their would lose their life, or lose someone just as close to them as their own life. Probably more so. And that possibility had been very close that night.

But it hadn't.

The painful silence was gone. The fear vaporized from existence once again. Let tomorrow give all it had, but take the present with a fair, loving stride. Newkirk could feel the difference; the relief. All that remained was his voice echoing and reverberating off the tunnel walls, as Newkirk talked warmly with the sister he thought he had lost that night. It gave him new courage, and a new hope.

But most of all, it chased away that dreadful, painful silence.

* * *

 **This is just a short oneshot that I came up with earlier today. My grandmother, who's English, was a little girl when the Germans bombed London. She still remembers it, and that her little friend across the street was killed in one of the attacks. It got me thinking how frightening it might be for Newkirk, who had family in England, to hear of the goings on there, and him being unable to help. I looked up the timeline, and was disappointed to see that the bombing of London took place a few years off from the time period that Hogan's Heroes was supposed to take place. But there were other times when the Germans bombed England that did match up.**

 **The incident that I used in this story was actually not a real bombing (at least, not resulting in the casualties mentioned). It was actually a terrible accident, in which panicked people rushing for shelter accidentally killed others within the Bethnal Green station. The incident was reported as direct hit of a German bomb; and investigations with the truth were not released until a few years later.**

 **I chose this particular incident because Bethnal Green is located very close to Stepney, the place told to us, in Hogan's Heroes, that Newkirk's sister lives.**

 ***Mama Bear was sometimes a code name for London. While Goldilocks was sometimes a code name for the Heroes. I say 'sometimes' because there are episodes in which the code names are different.**


End file.
